Lago Atitlan: Laking around San Pedro La Laguna

23 Wednesday Mar 2011

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Arnaud on our bike ride to San Marcos

Lake Atitlan, at 1573 meters/5238 feet, is a volcano fringed high altitude lake that is dotted around its shores with a series of villages that contain largely indigenous populations. Arnaud and I were very fortunate to have great weather on the morning we awoke at Gran Sueno, and we decided to forgoe the extremely expensive guided bike tours (at $55 a person) and just rent a few bikes and make our way along the northern “road” towards San Marcos where we planned to stop for lunch. The bikes were not the most modern, but they worked ok. What was a little cause for concern was hearing a grave warning about the road between San Juan La Laguna and San Marcos. Apparently there was a stretch of this route where tourists can be targeted and robbed by bandits. We were given two options: either get a pick-up to drive us through that section, or, if we saw shady looking characters, we could just ride extra fast to get by them.

Hmmmm…?

The "Las Rocas" Jumping Platform

As it turned out, we didn’t see any shady looking characters, just a bunch of farmworkers and locals walking between towns. Maybe they were bandits, but what exactly do bandits look like? More importantly, however, the road was full of very steep inclines that I struggled to push my bike over, sometimes being forced to jump off and heave my bike uphill on foot. If I were a bandit, I’d pick a nice spot at the top of one of these inclines, and then robbing me would be a piece of cake.

“Ride fast through these sections.” Yeah, right. This person had obviously never ridden a bike to San Marcos.

We made it  without any issues other than being exhausted and a little sunburnt. Dropping our bikes and our daypacks off at a hostel for an hour, we set out in our swim wear to find a spot on the lake where we were told it was possible to jump off the rocks into the lake. It was called “Las Rocas”- and it doesn’t appear in any guidebook. Sure enough, just to the right of the boat jetty, we found several wooden platforms, one of which had a “gate”, that you could open if you dared make the easily 30 feet/10 meter jump into the Lake. Arnaud jumped with no fear; I needed some more time to work up the courage. It was a long way down! After Arnaud made his second leap, he waited in the water below shouting encouragement. Someone said to me: “You can’t look, you just have to do it”.

So I did.

The road to San Marcos

What a rush! Not to mention having to re-assemble my bikini after hitting the water. After buying some yummy empanadas on the street, we elected to continue heading east to the last town accessible by the “road”, Tzununa, and then take the boat back to San Pedro from there. Cycling back to San Pedro was not an option for me, I was spent. The next section was unpaved and made the ride a little more fun and challenging. Plus it was mostly downhill. Score. On the boat back to San Pedro I was pleasantly surprised to meet up with a group of travellers from Poland, and I happily chatted to them in Polish about their trip. It always astounds me just how I always run into another Polish person no matter where I am in the world.

On our second and last day, we elected to climb Volcan San Pedro. We paid 100 quetzals each including entrance to the National Park and a guide. We were told that it was a 3 hour steep ascent, however, that didn’t include the hour it took to walk steeply uphill through San Pedro La Laguna to the park entrance! The climb was primarily in forest and it was unrelentingly steep. After 3 hours since departure, I was seriously feeling pain and hunger (especially since we hadn’t had a substantial breakfast). However, once emerging onto the rocky outcrop at the summit, the pain became all worthwhile as the vista revealed itself. The shining lake and surrounding mountains, thankfully free of clouds. We stayed on the summit until clouds rolled in about twenty minutes later, and completed the knee-jarring descent to the park entrance in two hours. Having adopted another hiker to our group, Nico, from Switzerland, we opted to pay for a tuk tuk directly to the Zoola restaurant to down some seriously needed nosh. After a quick shower, it was time for Arnaud and I to grab a shuttle and head back to Antigua in time for his flight home (sniff sniff) the following morning.

At the summit of Volcan San Pedro, 3020 meters

When: 13th and 14th of March

Where: Hotel Gran Sueno, San Pedro La Laguna and Casa Amarillo in Antigua

How: Shuttle from San Pedro La Laguna to Antigua.

A Shuttle, Three Chicken Buses, A Boat, And One Lost Lunch

18 Friday Mar 2011

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Another great Guatemalan mode of transportation, The Pick-Up

Wanting to cram as much as possible into the short week that Arnaud was traveling with me in Guatemala, we decided to try and get from Lanquin all the way to Panajachel on Lake Atitlan in one day.  It’s a long journey.  Though it was one that made me reconsider my earlier opinions about shuttle buses! They are not necessarily faster or more comfortable than chicken buses.  But more importantly, they are far less entertaining!

I was happy to note that we didn’t even have one cocky ex-pat hostel owner running his errands on our shuttle for the return to Antigua.  There was, however, one extra person on the shuttle already present when the other twelve of us piled in from El Retiro.  This was of no consequence until we reached Coban.  There, we were approached by a hostel owner and was told that the shuttle had been overbooked, and since he had two paying customers waiting to get onboard, would the person who bought their ticket last please own up to it and get off the shuttle?  His question was met with silence at incredulity.  I mean, come one! How is it that person’s fault that their hostel took their cash for a seat when there weren’t enough?

Just when I had visions of having both of my butt cheeks slammed by a fourth person in our already crammed three person row, Francesco, a lovely Italian traveler we met, piped up and set the owner straight: “No, nobody is getting off of this bus.” Surprisingly, the owner relented.

My travel mascot, Quatchi, on the Chicken Bus to Solola

After nearly 2 hours on the road and not having eaten anything since waking at 5am, I am not even the slightest bit guilty to tell you that I have never been happier to stop at a McDonalds as I was when we subsequently pulled into its parking lot.  In Guatemala, the drive-thru is called “McDrive” which I thought hilarious.  The quality of the food is also much higher than back home, and I thought it was apt that they also had “Desayuno Tipico” on the menu!

On our approach to Guatemala City, Francesco suggested that it might shave an hour or two off of several of our journeys if we elected to transfer to Chicken Buses for the rest of the journey to the Lake.  The driver kindly agreed to drop us off in Santa Lucia because it was more “seguro” than Guate for a bus change.  Since my McMuffin was but a distant memory at this point, I decided to run over to the market and grab us some street food, which consisted of corn tortillas, guacamole, pico de gallo, and chicken.  Standing with two backpacks and one purse attached to me, I tried to balance my tortilla sandwich carefully as I took a bite.  Delicious.

Not one minute later, but Francesco’s bus to Chichi pulled up and we all yelled our goodbyes and see you in Pana’s! As the bus pulled away, one of the luggage workers yelled at us for our destination, which we’d already told him three times, and when we replied “Panajachel” – a whole bunch of Guatemalans started yelling for the bus that was pulling away to stop while the worker started yanking at my backpack to throw it up on the roof.  Unfortunately, my purse was wrapped over my mochilla’s straps, so no matter how hard he yanked it wouldn’t come free.  My plated lunch subsequently flew in the air destined to become the best meal a stray dog had eaten in weeks on the street.  Amidst the chaos we managed to get aboard while running alongside the bus and being dragged in by a flapping arm.

Approaching Lake Atitlan on the Bus

Once inside the bus, we relearned the meaning of “packing them in tight”.  Just getting past the conductor required bodily contortion, and then once standing happily in the aisles, we were ordered to sit on one of the people who were seated two to a seat. So the next two hours or so consisted of balancing half of my rear end facing out toward the aisle on the seat, trying to ignore the pain in the other half, listening and smelling the drunk guy next to me who kept swilling corn liquor and talking to me in Mayan, holding onto the seat bars in front of me like my life depended on it while the driver cranked the engine to maximum tearing around sharp bends at such velocity it was more excitement than Space Mountain.

Yes, this was far more entertaining than a shuttle.

As a whole, Guatemalans are a relaxed people and they usually operate on Guatemalan time.  Well, this societal norm was given a strict kibosh on this chicken bus.  It was hilarious the way people would squeeze their way to the front, yelling at the driver that this was his or her stop, and then watch in amazement at how the driver would slam on the brakes, the doors would open, and the person was literally flung from the bus mid-air so that the driver could begin accelerating once again.

After having only had one bite of my lunch I eagerly bought a bag of papaya from one of the many vendors who board the bus for a couple of stops to sell snacks.

The boats of Lake Atitlan

The hurrying bus paid off, and despite having to change buses two more times, we arrived in Panajachel in about 1 ½ hours less than the scheduled shuttle.  Sore asses and blistered hands (from holding on for dear life) aside, I’m committed to mass public transit moving forward!

On arrival in Pana, Arnaud and I walked the streets looking for a hostel.  Upon observing the crowds of backpackers and seeing the souvenir-lined streets, we looked at each other and we both knew that we were heading for the lake to catch a boat to San Pedro instead.

As if our butts had not received enough punishment, the boat across the lake this late in the afternoon proved to be rather choppy, and we had stupidly decided to sit at the front of the boat where we could see all the pretty scenery.  Dumb decision.  The front of the boat lifted clear out of the water and smacked back down taking us with it on a seat-losing agonizing 45 minutes during which the wooden benches continued to whack us in our pained rears.

We were so relieved to fall down on our beds at the lovely Gran Sueno guesthouse that evening, a full twelve hours after leaving Lanquin.

And despite the long journey, turned out the only bad thing that happened was that I dropped my lunch.

 

Where: Gran Sueno Guest House, San Pedro La Laguna

When: March 12

How: see above!

Semuc Champey – Guatamela’s Garden Of Eden?

17 Thursday Mar 2011

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At the Mirador, Semuc Champey

Our long and arduous journey to Lanquin turned out to be completely worth it.  Semuc Champey and the surrounding area is simply beautiful and we couldn’t have a had a more invigorating and relaxing time here, staying at the El Retiro Lodge.

The day in Semuc Champey itself started with a visit to the K’anba Caves.  This area is primarily limestone and is a cavers paradise with thousands of unmapped miles of cave to explore: it just so happens that two main caves are open to the public.  This first one is the “wet” cave, so aptly named because you get to crawl, climb, and even swim through them, all the while holding a candle.  How do you swim with a candle?  Very carefully!

In the K'Anba Caves

I loved the experience inside the caves: it was rather unique and reminded me of the caves with glowworms I visited in New Zealand, except there you tubed the entire way through the cave on the water. Swimming through this cave made you feel like a first-time explorer, and the candles created a lovely ambiance such that I didn’t really even use my headlamp, even though I’d brought it.   This kind of excursion would never be permitted back home because some of the access points and narrow footholds meant that one wrong step could result in serious injury.  But this is Guatemala- and there are no liability waivers to sign here…yet.

After the cave splunk, our guide showed us a plant that the Maya used for cloth dye, and proceeded to mark our faces with the bright orange paint.  It certainly made us look strange for the rest of the days pictures.  We crossed the river to the National Park of Semuc Champey, which is essentially an area of pristine mountainous forest where the river cascades through a series of crystal clear and surprisingly warm emerald green pools.  A stiff uphill climb took us first to the Mirador to snap some aerial shots. Later it was an afternoon’s agenda of basking in the sun, diving in the pools, whooshing over rock slides and enjoying the peace of the location.

Arnaud diving into one of the pools

Having said this, it was obvious that tourism at Semuc is growing rapidly: the lodge we were staying at was under construction for an entirely new wing of accommodation , and the “tour” to Lanquin is heavily advertised in Antigua and Lake Atitlan.  I would suggest you come and visit before you are forced to share these pools with busloads of tourists.  Because it just wouldn’t be the same.

The following day we relaxed at the lodge, took a longer tube ride down the river, and then decided to visit the “Dry” caves in Lanquin.   I recommend visiting here in the early evening when you’ll have the opportunity to marvel at the thousands of bats emerging from the cave entrance, flying into the night sky in search for food.  Just make sure they don’t fly into your hair.

Bats emerging from the Lanquin Caves

When: March 9-11

Where: El Retiro Lodge, Lanquin

How: Shuttle bus from Antigua. There are shuttle from El Retiro to Rio Dulce, Lake Atitlan, and Flores.

Photos: You can see more photos from Semuc Champey here.

Ten Stereotypical Things I Love About The French

15 Tuesday Mar 2011

Posted by in France

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Could these guys BE any more French?

1 – They eat cheese with almost every meal.  Not a slice, a giant hunk of cheese. And the smellier the better. Even children; I watched as Arnaud’s 3 year old niece happily munched on a lump the size of her head.

2 – They drink wine with almost every meal.

3 – They accomplish 1. and 2. without getting fat.  How they manage this should be the subject of boundless scientific study so that we may apply their methods in the States. I gained three pounds in six days.

4 – They make a dish called Raclette.  First you have special cheese, and you melt copious slices of the stuff which you then pour all over your “charcuterie” – a vast array of cold meats and hams that represent at least one entire animal per person at the table – and a giant bowl of mashed potatoes.  It’s like eating joy.  And for me, it’s like pouring fat into my thighs.  Because I’m not French (see number 3.)

Raclette. The first of many plates' worth

5- Meals are long drawn out affairs where the whole group/family gets together, eats, laughs, shares stories. It is started by the nearly religious Apéros – Cocktails with nibbles to warm up the stomach. Dinner can easily take two hours to complete, and that’s at home, not in a restaurant.

6 – They don’t believe in queuing.  You could easily lose an eye as some old lady rams her elbow in your face as she barges past you to get on the metro first. In an emergency, the French die from trampling each other in a mass exodus where everyone is for themselves.

7 – The abysmal service in restaurants is actually quite entertaining if you pay attention.  Not caring, and being able to master an indifferent shrug on demand if your patron’s meal arrives cold or very late is part of the waiter’s job requirement.

The Gredin Family, dining together

8 – Kissing.  Not French Kissing per se, though I am grateful they gave the name to that loveliest of pastimes, but the required two to four kisses you give to everyone in the room each time you enter and leave it. The sweet panic you feel each time you forget how many times you’re supposed to do it.  And how a conversation between two people never commences prior to kissing.

9 – Strikes.  The French are very adamant about their right to work only required hours, their right to reimbursed health care, their right to retirement at 62 provided by the state, their right to go on vacation for six weeks every year, and of course, their right to strike if any of these expectations are not met or promised.  I love that.  In the US, we just expect to, well, get nothing.

10 – They’re not afraid to show they don’t like you. Forget the polite veneer of tolerance, you’ll not be left wondering if someone is genuinely interested in you, or is just pretending.

Oh Why Do I Love Paris?

15 Tuesday Mar 2011

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The Paris Cafe

Easy answer.  The Café culture.

I was recently lucky enough to be invited to spend a week in Paris with my Parisian boyfriend, Arnaud, who had to return to France to renew his work visa for the US.  Apart from staying with his family in Cergy for the weekend, which was both a familial and gastronomic delight, we had a corporate expensed hotel room in the 5eme arondissement near Montparnasse.  Who could refuse?

Arnaud had to work for most of the working week, and I busied myself on this, my fourth visit to the French capital, with miles and miles of walking the neighborhoods, taking photographs, drinking in the atmosphere of it all.  And, of course, the obligatory two to three stops per day to sample sweet delicious and watch the world go by in Paris cafes.

Le Croque Monsieur

There is something very unique about Paris cafes, and I think it’s because they are as much a fundamental part of a Parisian’s life as is their daily commute on the Metro.  Coffee is taken very seriously, and is always served as an espresso in the mandatory teeny cup.  Except for me, of course, the perennially annoying “touriste” who insists on ruining her café by having it “au lait”, or worse yet (quel horreur!) in a big bowl, which I greedily devoured in a street café in the Montmartre.

I love cafes not just for the people watching and for the delicious cakes, pastries and croque monsieurs; which by the way is the world’s best sandwich.  Hello? Béchamel sauce baked in with cheesy hammy wonder? I’m drooling just thinking about it.  But I digress.  I love cafes in Paris because each time I have a secret personal competition in my head as to where I can find the worst-mannered wait staff.

You see, they already hate me when they hear my English (or American, depends on whether you’re English or American) accented French.  And they usually respond in English because they know it will piss me off.  But then I go and massacre their sacred café by ordering it in a bowl and then they can’t slam down the silverware on my table hard enough.

Do you hear them screaming "Eat me!"?

I find it incredibly amusing.  And refreshing.  In the States, the over-the-top false niceness of service can sometimes be downright irritating.  But they’re working for a tip, so one can understand.  In Paris, I sometimes felt I had to stand and wave my arms above my head just to get a server’s attention.

It’s a good thing for French waiters that the l’addition typically includes the tip.  So they can roll their eyes at you, mutter under their breath, slam your food on the table, and still wish you a “Bonne Journee” without breaking a smile.

Ahhhh, Paris.

Death by Minivan

12 Saturday Mar 2011

Posted by in Guatemala

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Chicken Bus

Traveling in Central America is generally performed by bus.  Pullman buses are comfortable and plush affairs, relatively speaking, and the so-called “Chicken Buses” are decidedly less comfortable, unless you are nine years old because that’s who the seats were designed to accommodate.   The alternative to the public bus system is the Shuttle, or privately-run minivan.   They do get you to your desired destination a little faster, however, they can still be quite cramped and therefore a painful experience on a long journey, especially since they cram people in till you’re seated with a degree of physical intimacy you may not like.

We took such a shuttle from Antigua to Lanquin, and were told that the journey could range from 5-9 hours.  It ended up taking about 8 hours, however this was not due to traffic, but was due to our being forced to wait patiently in the cramped van while two self-claimed British “owners” of a new hostel in Lanquin got supplies, loaded the van, made phone calls etc.  Oh, and when they wanted to pull over to buy themselves a coconut to drink.

These guys left rather a bad impression, in my opinion.  If I were an owner of a new hostel in Lanquin, I would try to leave a good impression with backpackers.  The vast majority of van occupants had not made reservations anywhere to stay, but not once did either guy mention anything about The Zephyr, or that we might also be able to stay there when two girls indicated they’d tried to email to hold a bed and were told, “oh, I’ll call ahead for you and make sure they have your reservation”.   I found them to be pretentious.

El Retiro Lodge

We instead opted to stay at the El Retiro Lodge where I had booked a private double room via email and telephone about a week prior.  Not that that mattered when we arrived and were told that they had my reservation, but that it wasn’t until tomorrow and it had been made for a dorm.  Great.  My Spanish may be a less than perfect, but I know what I confirmed.  Basically, the hotel was somewhat full and they didn’t give a crap if you wanted a double room or not: you got what was available.

And so, we ended up in one of their “loft” rooms, which had two twin beds and had to be accessed via a step ladder.  Fun times.   Except for the bugs that could easily fly in and out of the room, the lockless entryway, and the even more entertaining trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night.   The beautiful jungle-like mountainous surroundings replete with hammocks and wooden bungalows next to the river certainly compensated.

As did the yummy bbq feast that was put on in the hotel-run restaurant that night, which we’ve subsequently enjoyed each night we’ve been here.  Generous servings of fresh home-cooked food: frijoles, guacamole, pico de gallo, chicken, tortillas, cheese, various salads, and strangely enough but very welcome: copious amounts of beetroot?

Yes, very happy to be here.

Got Lava?

11 Friday Mar 2011

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Preparing to hike up Volcan Pacaya

This was my second visit to Guatemala, though almost exactly two years ago, my stay was for a mere 24 hours before I headed south to Honduras.  This trip, was to be quite different.  To start with, I have far less resources and therefore less time before I’ll have to head home to find another job (I got laid off from TravelPost in January).  Also, my boyfriend Arnaud is with me for the first eight days, which has required some tricky route planning to ensure we both get the most out of the visit, without too much backtracking on my part.

After our week sojourn in Paris and the UK, I was happy to re-discover the joys of what I like to call “reverse jet-lag”.  Opposed to the painful experience of forcing oneself to get up when it feels like its time to go to sleep, aka US-Europe travel, one feels instead as though one has had a good long night of partying, and is returning home in the wee hours of the morning vastly well-prepared to snooze away till the late afternoon.  It’s a piece of cake for me, especially being the night owl that I am.

Emerging from one of the steaming "caves"

So one hour after grabbing a cab to Antigua from the airport, we wearily fell easily asleep in our comfortable double room at the Casa Amarillo.  We awoke refreshed around 7am and partook of the tremendous breakfasts on offer included in the price: porridge, pancakes, eggs, potatoes, black beans, fruit and delicious Guatemalan coffee.  We spent the morning happily wandering around Antigua’s lovely stone cobbled streets, taking in the many “ruins”, left that way not because they are ancient Mayan relics, but rather because Antigua has been repeatedly ravaged by earthquakes.

That afternoon we decided to tackle the steep slopes of Pacaya, a volcano about an hour from Antigua which unfortunately (for us as tourists that is) was no longer spewing red hot lava since its eruption in May of 2010.  We were met by at least 20 small children clamoring to sell us their handmade walking “sticks”, overwhelming in the sense that even if I had wanted to buy a walking stick, I would have relented due to being unable to choose whom to buy one from.

Unfortunately, we couldn't go all the way to the summit

Our guide, Arturo, a rail-thin but ever smiling man in his 40’s described how he and his family took refuge in their home’s basement as man-sized boulders rained from the sky, emerging later to discover their house was rubble.  Despite the hardship that the volcano inflicted upon him (especially since he essentially lost his job in the months following the eruption when all tours were cancelled) Arturo still proudly declared that he had the best job in the world: guiding people to the top of Pacaya twice a day, seven days a week.

Despite the lack of lava, the scenery was impressive and other-worldly: the path the lava had taken was clearly visible in the black, now hardened, river of solid rock.  There were a few areas that were “venting”, small caves that one could climb inside and feel cocooned by the sauna-like heat coming from the heart of the mountain.  Unfortunately, the summit was still about 200m out of our reach, so after a few hour ascent, we bid goodbye and made our way back.

After an authentic Guatemalan meal of Chile Rellenos (Peppers stuffed with meat and spices), we happily fell fast asleep from all the physical exertion.

Then again, maybe it was the reverse jet-lag.

The next adventure begins

03 Tuesday Aug 2010

Posted by in Guatemala

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So.  After several frustrating attempts at migrating my 12 year old blog over from blogger to WordPress, I’m finally here and ready to embark on a new travel adventure in Central America.

The look and feel of the blog is by no means finished; I am in “learning” mode and need all the help I can get!

 

Thailand Part IV: Diving

29 Thursday Apr 2010

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Friends (written yesterday)

Pics are up!

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/ThailandBeachesAndDivingApril2010#

I’ve also uploaded a bunch of videos as well from the entire trip:

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/MoviesFromThailandCambodiaAndNepal#



So I made it back to the States, and right now I am curled up on the sofa at my friend Jessica’s house in Berkeley as she is trying to get her 9 month old baby down for a nap. I’m trying hard to tell my body that its not the middle of the night, so finishing off my blog before I head to the airport for my flight to Seattle made a lot of sense.


So I left you on the afternoon in Phuket when I was on cloud nine because not only had I found a liveaboard boat to go diving on, but Mark was able to come with me too! After giddily packing and storing my larger bag, I raced back to the dive shop in time for our transfer north to meet the boat. I met Mark there, and I was overwhelmed with a sense of relief…I didn’t want to let myself believe that he was going to come along until I actually saw him there. He was grinning from ear to ear, as was I, we were both just dumbfounded by the number of things that had to line up in order for this to happen. Plus, we’d both gotten such a good last-minute price that we felt almost guilty, especially since we were essentially kicking one of the dive guides out of his cabin. I was especially glad for Mark to get to see the Similan Islands before the season ended, but also just for him to experience some fun diving after having dived for “work” so much lately.


The drive was a good couple of hours and Mark and I talked and kissed like honeymooners. Some of the new group asked him how we knew each other, and after he mentioned we’d only met a few days ago, they looked at us incredulously. I really admire Mark’s directness, he is direct the way I am direct. I think that’s what immediately attracted me to him, especially when you consider his approach that day on the beach. He is also wickedly funny, and great to talk to. In the evenings on the boat, we’d often just lie on the bed listening to Mark’s music and tell each other stories…he’d have me in stitches. We both share the notion of a “traditional” life being extremely overrated- I really admire his ability to set his mind to wanting to do something (like learn to dive and go straight to a divemaster qualification during four months in Thailand) that others would scoff at, and just go do it. I am very similar and I think subsequently we understood one another.


The boat itself was quite sizable- 3 decks and about 7 separate living cabins. The first deck housed living areas, kitchen, and dive equipment. Below deck was more cabins and then the second deck had a dining/living area, captain’s area, and our cabin. We got really lucky- every other cabin you simply walked inside and you were immediately met by 2 bunk beds. Our cabin was far more spacious and housed a double bed. We jumped on it like children when we first walked in. The upper deck was a large sunning deck.


I was going to have a really good time. I kept thinking about the SNL skit “I’m on a boat” and smiling.


That evening we set sail after a really good dinner where we chatted with and got to know the other divers- from 13 different countries in total. We were warned that the crossing to the Similans might be a little rough, so I took some seasickness pills.


They weren’t kidding, after a few hours the boat was rocking so hard that I had to lie down, and was eventually able to sleep.


The trip consisted of 3 full days at sea where we completed 4 dives a day. On the last morning we’d do 2 dives before heading back to Phuket. I’ve never done more than 2 dives in one day, so I had some trepidations at how I might react or feel at the end of that many dives. Not that there wasn’t enough surface intervals to have much risk of decompression sickness, but still, I was wondering whether it would take it out of me.


Well, we soon fell into a rhythm with the schedule. Which I’m sure you’ll all agree was extremely stressful. Wake up around 7:30am for coffee and a dive briefing. First dive then a delicious breakfast like banana pancakes and scrambled eggs. Then an hour to sunbathe, read, or nap and our second morning dive followed by an enormous lunch. Follow that with a delicious nap and our third dive of the day. Then the highlight (of my day) was afternoon tea and CAKE followed by either a sunset dive at 5pm or a night dive at 7pm. Then dinner and an evening to socialize, read, chill to music, or sleep.


Sounds difficult, no? It was…..;-)


I certainly didn’t get bored with the dives themselves. In fact, the more I dove (is it dove or dived?) the more I wanted to dive. It had a cumulative effect on me. And I LOVED diving with Mark. Besides the coral being superb, fish being colorful and the water crystal clear, a dive can be often dictated by your dive buddy. Many of the other divers on the trip were photographers and/or the kind of divers who will patiently wait in a line 6 or 7 divers long to get a quick look at a tiny seahorse. Mark and I are both not like that. We like to explore, really swim, and not linger anywhere for too long. I really appreciated that about having him as a partner underwater. Our styles meshed. Also, since he was practically a divemaster, we were given permission to separate from the group and do our own thing. Which usually had us separating from the other divers from the very descent and discovering that we’d covered quite some ground by the time our 50 min/ 50 bar limit was reached. We would often surface and think “Where is the boat?” and it inevitably had to come quite a way to pick us up!


I really love that feeling that I first get in the pit of my stomach as I look at my buddy after we’ve first jumped in the water and acknowledge that all is OK and I’m ready to descend. Its such a magical feeling – to know that you’re leaving the world as we know it, and are about to enter the whole other world of this planet’s water. I especially enjoy it right at that moment when the water passes over the level of your mask and you first have to clear your ears to equalize. Then you know its game on. I had to be careful to descend slowly, my ears did present some trouble to me over the course of the five days…I think I was still very congested after my Khumbu cough. And Mark would always float down head first, kicking his way to greater depths where I preferred to just float down nice and easy with my feet first.


I thought about Jennifer a lot on the first few dives. Then I became a lot more confident until not even the night dive unnerved me.


We saw some incredible sea life. We saw moray eels, manta rays, leopard sharks, octopus, as well as a huge variety of fish and coral. My favorite moment was on a dive where Mark and I had typically swam away from the group. We were observing an octopus that had settled on the sea floor and were waiting for it to move again. We were shoulder to shoulder when Mark looked up for a second and then grabbed me fiercely and turned me around to look out towards the “big blue beyond”. In that moment a huge manta ray swam up and over our heads, so close it took my breath away (well, not literally because its really bad to not breathe continually underwater). I think I said “Jesus F$#^&ing Christ” into my regulator. We were super excited and couldn’t help but gloat about it afterwards on the boat, much to the chagrin of the other divers who hadn’t seen it. Some even suggested that perhaps we were mistaken, and since neither of us had a camera, maybe we were making it up? Whatever! They were just jealous.


The night dive was really fun- and it was Mark’s first. Once it was really dark out and we were relying entirely on our flashlights to see underwater, I was mesmerized by the color of the water as the light from the bottom of the boat shone down into the blue underneath. It reminded me a little of diving in the cenotes of Mexico, with different shades of sapphire. So utterly beautiful.


So after four days of diving, I still really hadn’t had enough. It was a little exhausting- by the time dinner was served each night I was pretty pooped and I slept pretty well. I was, however, ready to get back to some air-conditioning. We were both so tired of dripping with sweat 24/7. It wears after a while. I missed the last dive on day 4 as I wanted to have a full 24 hour window left before my flight to Bangkok in the morning. On the night of the 3rd day, the crew informed us that the compressors had broken and so we’d be pulling into a port for the evening. We were all happy for the chance to get on dry land and walked around for a few hours, getting ice cream at the 7-Eleven. Some members of the group had a little too much rum and were hard pressed to get back in the water in the morning…


The following day we returned to Phuket pretty early, around 3:30pm. Mark and I said a quick farewell while I went back to my hotel to collect my bags, but it turned out that Mark’s sister was back in town and he spent the evening with her. Sadly, I didn’t getting the chance to say goodbye, but I have a feeling that I’ll see him again someday.


I was super wiped out by the time I got back to my room. I was supposed to meet up with Allison, my friend from Cali and Semester at Sea that evening. So I showered and packed for tomorrow then waited to hear from her via Facebook… Not hearing from her, I headed out to do some last minute shopping and ended up grabbing a movie for some delightful air-conditioning. Someone who I didn’t recognize had written on my wall that evening, and it wasn’t until around 10pm that night that I realized it was Allison’s friend giving me info on when and how to meet up with them. Was sad about that, but by 10 I was absolutely spent and crashed out pretty hard.


The next morning, I grabbed a cab about 8:30 am to the airport and began my long journey home. I had a four hour layover in Bangkok and a five hour layover in Hong Kong. I finished my book on Buddhism and began reading “Then they killed my father” – a memoir about the Cambodian genocide of the 70’s…not exactly cheerful reading, but gripping nonetheless. Long journeys always make me feel a bit lonely and this was no exception, plus I was missing Mark. Soon, I knew, I’d be in a “different world” in all senses of the world.


And so I am.


I will try to write an epilogue of sorts when I get back home tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my stories as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them!


Much love,

Anita

Thailand Part III: Beaches

27 Tuesday Apr 2010

Posted by in Thailand

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Friends,
I’m sitting at the airport in Bangkok (God do I know this airport well by now!) and with some free time before my flights Stateside, I think I’ll take the opportunity to write about my last week in Thailand before I get home and “normality” sets in and the memories are not as fresh.
I’ve had an incredible end to my nearly two month sojourn. When I was trekking in the Himalayas, I couldn’t imagine being back in the heat of Thailand, but that fact hit me all too abruptly when I flew all the way from Lukla to Phuket in one day… I left you last in my hotel room in Phuket town (strangely, my guidebook recommended making the city center a “base” – an idea which is very flawed indeed). After a long needed sleep, I checked out of my room, stored my bags and set out into Phuket Town with the idea of finding a dive shop to discuss liveaboard options to the Similan Islands.
Unfortunately, Phuket town is not exactly a tourist hub, and it took me a frustrating hour just to find someone to do my laundry! After walking for what seemed like hours, I found a small travel agency who explained to me that I might find what I’m looking for with Similan Pro Dive, but that there office was far away. He offered to take me there in his car, which was extremely kind of him. So, off I set and happily chatted with the dive staff at their shop. Not wanting to commit to their 2 night/3 day trip right away without shopping a little, I accepted their kind offer to drop me off at the bus stop to catch a public bus to Patong Beach, where many more dive shops were located. After a quick bite to eat, I found myself in Patong and quickly realized that this was the main tourist hub of Phuket!
After chatting with several dive shops, I settled on an incredible 4 night/5 day liveaboard with Eden Divers for the insanely good price of 14,000 baht including 16 dives and equipment! It didn’t leave for another two days, so I decided to go to Ko Phi Phi in the morning for one night and then return in time to catch the boat heading to the Similan Island, Ko Ban, and Richelieu Rock. I was so excited.
Having met a couple of Brits on the main beach in Patong who recommended a small new hotel that was cheap in Patong, that evening was spent grabbing a cab to and from Phuket Town to grab my bags and laundry, before checking in to my new digs and packing an overnight bag. I also squeezed in another heavenly Thai massage.
The next morning a minibus picked me up and transferred me to the ferry dock for the 90 minute crossing to the exquisitely beautiful Phi Phi Island. The water was emerald and the beaches blindingly white. I was excited to arrange a longboat to take me over to Phi Phi Lei in the early morning as I’d heard that the boat trips during the day took you to this famous beach (from the movie “The Beach” with Leonardo Di Caprio) did so along with hundreds of other tourists, which would spoil the ambiance for me, I think. After spending a few minutes wandering around the little town looking for a place to stay, I happened across a sign advertising a camping trip where you got to stay on Maya Beach (The Beach) overnight in a small group and wake up to the sunrise there! I was absolutely sold and giddily excited when I met up with the group of us lucky enough to have figured this out around 3 in the afternoon.
We had a wonderful crew of people, there was about 13 of us altogether, and the evening turned out to be one of the most memorable on my trip. And this had a lot to do with a certain someone that I met there: Mark. Mark, is a devastatingly gorgeous and fun-loving, 36 yr-old adventurous American/Aussie from Aspen, Co., who had been in Phuket for the last few months completing his DiveMaster training and was going to Ko Phi Phi with his sister and her three girlfriends. We immediately hit it off. In fact, during the first half hour or so that we were on Maya Bay, frantically taking photographs of one another, Mark asked to have a picture taken with me. A little surprised at this stranger’s enthusiasm, I agreed, only to be further shocked when he looked at me and said “Why don’t we just kiss now and get it over with, as we both know its going to happen sooner or later tonight?”
I relented 😉
And so began my lovely week-long romance in the stunningly romantic setting of the Islands of Thailand’s Andaman coast.
On arrival in the bay, some of us opted to “swim” to shore which was MUCH farther than it first appeared. It ended up being about a 20 minute swim in a strong current, but it didn’t matter. That evening was spectacular: to be able to watch all the throngs of tourists leave, having that idyllic setting just for our little group, to be able to watch the sunset, eat dinner, share some drinks, dancing, and fun…and then find a little spot on the sand to sleep – it was amazing. And being able to share that with someone new simply added to the experience.
It was a little difficult getting to sleep that night- no matter what you were still covered in sand, and sand is actually harder than you’d think to sleep on. But we were rewarded with the incredible bioluminescence washing up on shore during the night, and then a chance to watch the surrounded hills and formations begin to blush pink in the approaching sunlight in the morning.
The following day Mark and I explored the other side of the island just after breakfast. As we were leaving, we happened upon a blue sea snake that was amazingly out of the water and slithering along the rocks right where we walked. We happily snapped photos.
All too soon it was time to take the longboat back to the larger boat to Phi Phi Don, unfortunately, the staff had forgotten my overnight backpack and I had to kayak, frantically, back to shore and then back to the boat to retrieve it in time.
Back on Phi Phi Don, I wandered the narrow streets checking out the island and its many beaches. It was such a hot afternoon that soon all Mark and I could do is sit at a bar and order cold drinks to stave away the heat. I opted to finish writing up my Nepal experience, and then met up with Mark in the delicious cold air con cabin of the boat back to Phuket where we laughed and shared life stories over fruit smoothies.
I was almost starting to regret my decision to take the 4 day liveaboard…it is just so rare to connect with someone the way Mark and I were, AND while on vaction! However, his sister was planning on doing her PADI Open Water course over the next four days, so Mark had to be there for that.
On getting back to my hotel, I gathered my bags and went over to the Dive shop. Horror. The owner told me that one of the generators on the boat had blown and that the trip was cancelled. Worse than that, the only other liveaboard boat going to the same destinations with another company was full and wouldn’t accept any more customers!
I was so terribly disappointed, and walked over to Mark’s hotel to tell him the news. At least we’d get to spend more time together…so after dinner, Mark took me on a tour of Patong on the back of his moped and I whooped for joy, especially when he rode really fast. I was having a great time, and I was sure I’d sort something else out to do the next day.
Well, I sure did!!!!!!!!!! The following day I puttered around the resort, did some shopping and checked email. The dive shop was supposed to be looking into other dive trips for me, more than likely a bunch of day trips together. I assumed that Mark was out diving with his sister. Walking by “West Coast Divers” I decided to go inside and just try ONE MORE TIME to see if they’d had a cancellation for their trip that was leaving that night.
I happened upon the owner of the company and she agreed to let me go, because she was going to give me one of the staff cabins on the boat! I was so excited, but wanted to tell Mark that I wouldn’t get to see him again before I left for the States. Since West Coast is where Mark is doing his Dive Master course, I mentioned him to the owner in passing conversation, and she says “Oh, poor Mark…his sister is sick and not doing Open Water anymore” – to which I responded, “Um, can I please use your cell phone?!”
I called Mark, who confirmed that his sister had changed her mind about the course, and then I told him that West Coast was letting me go on their liveaboard, and did he want to join me since there was space for him too??!! He couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed the stars had aligned for us to go together.
With only 2 hours to go before the transfer to the boat left Phuket, it was a mad dash about town to get laundry, and get packed. My hotel charged me for a half-night, but I didn’t care: I felt like a 10 year old on Christmas Morning. I was going diving for 4 nights and 5 days….and I got to have my very own DiveMaster as a dive buddy!
Yay me!
Well, I’m out of time, so I will finish writing about my liveaboard trip till tomorrow.
Much love,
Anita